Into the Kingswood
by Hand of the King
Summary: Many know the story of the Kingswood Brotherhood but they know nothing of their roots. Who was Simon Toyne? Oswyn the Thrice-Hanged? The Smiling Knight? Why were they so feared and what drove them to become outlaws? Though few of its members lived to tell their story, there are some men who still look favorably on the Brotherhood and what they sought to accomplish.


The air was tense with static and Simon could feel the storm brewing up above behind the pale gray skies, the clouds swirling like a great black dragon beating its dusk-colored wings. In the distance, the sound of thunder rolled through like a fearsome roar and for a brief second, Simon had to remind himself that the dragons were all dead. House Toyne had no love for the dragon-kind, ever since Ser Terrence Toyne met a gruesome fate at the hands of Aegon the Unworthy for the love he bore Lady Bracken. _His heart was black and bruised in the name of love and he lost his life for it_ , Simon's father, Lord Richard often told him stories of the House Toyne and its rocky history with the crown, for no Toyne could forget the mark of dishonor Ser Terrence had placed upon them.

Oswyn groaned in his saddle at the sound of the uproarious thunder, tightening his grip around the reigns of his horse. "We should make camp under those trees right there," Oswyn grimaced in his usual glum tone. "I had a cousin who caught a chill and died from riding in the rain."

"Death won't find you so soon, Oswyn," Simon smiled, before pulling his cloak up past his jug-ears. The man was somber and the sound of complaint was a tune that often passed his thin, wormy lips, but Oswyn had loyally served House Toyne since Simon was a boy. He was good with a bow and Simon had grown to find the man to be good with advice, despite his direness in even the most fruitful of times. "We're only a day out from Gallowsgrey and father wanted me to make haste in being the first to propose a marriage to Lady Jeyne," he said.

"You've never even met the girl," Oswyn said. "What if she's pimple-ridden or has a bit o' hair on her upper lip?

"Haven't you ever heard people talk about Trant girls? They're soft on the eyes and have fiery red hair," Simon said, imagining the beautiful young woman awaiting him at Gallowsgrey. It seemed like a story out of one of Maester Edmund's old books, about a knight in shining armor offering his hand to the beautiful young princess. But Simon was no knight in shining armor and Lady Jeyne was no princess. He was a scoundrel black of heart and she was a hangman's daughter, but Simon found that story just as romantic all the same.

"Lord Trant is a fierce man," Oswyn said, picking at his ear with his little finger. "I saw him ride in a tourney at Storm's End when I had first come into your lord father's service, and the man rode fast and hard like no other. He made a cripple out of Ser Robert Frey in one tilt and sent that bastard of Ashford sprawling through the dirt. Seven Hells... was that a tourney."

Lately, Oswyn had been reflecting quite happily on his earlier years in service to House Toyne. Perhaps the age was growing on him like a sickness, making him yearn for the past where he was healthy and young and strong as any other man. His hair was gray and his eyes yellowed, but Oswyn still had some strength in him and Simon saw it as he spoke of the Tourney at Storm's End.

"All the more reason not to stay and make camp, Oswyn," Simon said. "Lord Trant is expecting us… who are we to keep a man of such ferocity waiting?" The young noble spurred his horse forward, sending his black cloak up and drawing an venerable grunt from his father's steward. They rode with haste through the wood, their horses striking the ground with monstrous force. Oswyn was a skilled rider, Simon knew, and wouldn't have any trouble keeping up.

What Simon didn't expect, however, was the shimmer of gold amidst the blackened wood. "Name yourself, ser," one of the armored men in shimmering gold cloaks called, baring the steel of his blade like a wild wolf would show its teeth. "And state what business you have in the Kingswood."

"I am no knight," Simon called as he tugged at his horse's reins and drew to a slow halt, his shaggy mount trotting impatiently as the blood still pumped through its trunk-like legs. Simon wanted to curse the men and their fathers for standing between him and his duty as a firstborn son. "And I have no business in the Kingswood. I ride for Gallowsgrey."

"I asked for your name," the goldcloak said, his blade still drawn.

"Simon of House Toyne," he straightened his back and pulled down the hood of his cloak. These men served the crown, he knew. They were men of the City Watch who rode from King's Landing on the orders of King Aerys or possibly Lord Tywin. Either way, he wanted no business with them. "Sheath your blade, ser, with all due respect for we both are loyal servants of the crown." The words tasted sour in his mouth.

"We are here in the name of keeping the King's peace, my lord," the goldcloak said as he sheathed his sword, riding forth to meet Simon and Oswyn. He was a stern-faced man, clean-shaven, with a lightning-shaped scar running down the corner of his mouth. "I apologize for the hostility, my lord. Outlaws have been prowling through the wood and the Lord Commander had me lead men into the wood to do away with the pestilence."

"Ser Gerold Hightower is a good man," Oswyn piped up. "I shared a cup of wine with him at a tourney once. Simon chuckled at Oswyn, always offering what he could to a conversation when it was least needed.

"Do you have a name, ser?" Simon asked.

"Ser Janos Blanetree, my lord."

"You are quite far out, Ser Janos, closer to Summerhall than you are to King's Landing," Simon leaned in close to the knight and offered him a smile. "Per chance, have you gotten a bit lost in your travels?"

Ser Janos stared daggers at Simon for a moment and the black-hearted lordling thought that the knight was going to draw his sword and cut him down in a wild fury, but the knight only keeled back his head and let out a deep bellied laugh. "Seven strike me down, I knew we took a wrong turn somewhere. We found a mill that looked like it had been inhabited by some outlaws and we rode in the direction the footprints went. From there, we didn't know which way was the right way and now we're here."

"From Gallowsgrey, there is a path that will lead you right through the wood and back onto the path you were on. Would you and your men care to accompany me and Oswyn to our destination? If there are outlaws in the wood as you say, it'd be wisest to travel together then to risk being overtaken."

"Men," Ser Janos reeled his horse around and cupped a hand over his mouth. "We're quite the lot of fools, it seems. We ride for Gallowsgrey with Lord Toyne and his man and its back to King's Landing for us. Mount up and let's get a move on."

As Ser Janos gathered his men, about twenty in total, Oswyn took a sip of wine from the calfskin that hung from his hip and offered it to Simon with a smile. "You're a clever one, aren't you, my lord?"

"What do you mean?"

"Riding into Gallowsgrey with a party of goldcloaks will surely get Lord Trant's attention," Oswyn said. "Considering the history between the Toynes and the crown, it'll do you good in the long run."

Simon only smiled, "We do what we must to get ahead."

"Oh I know," Oswyn said. " _Fly high, fly far_ , afterall…"


End file.
